A New Race to Run
by bluedawn01
Summary: John Noble has been running his whole life. Running from his family, running from his past, running from his problems. But when a bright, shining new woman comes into his life, maybe he'll find that he doesn't always have to run alone.
1. Chapter 1

John Noble looks out his window and sighs heavily. He hates the winter, he really does. Snow and ice everywhere, bad roads and grumpy people. And he can't run outside in the winter. The sidewalks are too treacherous, even if it took him a few years, several falls and multiple sprains to admit it. He can't give it up, though. He's a runner. It's all he has...besides his shop and his somber flat and his general opinion that the world can go arse itself.

Luckily, an old army buddy of his owns a small gym just around the block where he can add a few hours of boring treadmill running to his usual lifting regiment in the winter season. It's not much of a life, he supposes, working on cars in his shop all day, lifting with Benton, going for a run and then heating up a sad frozen meal to eat while staring listlessly at the telly for a while before starting all over again the next day, but he has a routine now and that's fine. He doesn't see any way out of it (not that he's been looking too hard) and he doesn't really care. A broken old soldier and the drudgery of his boring old life.

It's a Tuesday evening like any other Tuesday evening as he closes up his shop, grabs his gym bag and heads around the block to Benton's, pulling the collar of his leather jacket up against the frigid air. Benton's gym is a small affair, nothing like those giant, shiny, white conglomerates they have downtown, boasting their seventy treadmills and gigantic televisions and intimidating patrons. It has about ten treadmills, a few stationary bikes, a telly that seems continually stuck on the BBC, a collection of eclectic lifting equipment and a room with a glass front that's used for aerobics classes and such. Benton claps him on the back as he enters, greeting John like the regular he is.

There aren't usually many people here (it's a big deal to see a new face - and there are almost all men here); it's safe and comfortable and he likes it, so it's a huge surprise that when he comes out of the locker room, there are about ten new faces moving about the space, faces that all seem to be attached to female bodies. Female bodies all clad in tight, spandex-y materials even though some of them probably ought not be.

"S'going on?" he mumbles to Benton, trying not to be one of the men gawking at the flock of unknown women, moving instead to fumble with his already tied shoelaces.

"Yoga class!" Benton says with a large grin. "Thought it might bring in some new faces!"

"Among other things," comments a smooth American voice to their left. The man who belongs with the voice is a young, handsome, insatiable ex-pat who is much more bark than bite. John (and the rest of the patrons here) have learned to ignore him most of the time. Once past his almost constant need for innuendo, he is really a fairly nice man.

"No scaring off the women, Harkness," Benton says firmly, admonishing.

"Who said anything about scaring them off?" Jack replies, his eyes firmly planted on the willowy, thin red-head shepherding the women into the other room.  
>"I'm serious, Jack," Benton cautions. "That class is going to be meeting Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays and I need the extra money to keep this place afloat. Most of those women are here because they don't like the way they get treated by men at those big gyms. So back off."<p>

"Ok, ok," Jack laughs, holding up his hands. "I solemnly swear that I will not leer at the women."

"Thank you," Benton replies.

"Can I still leer at John?" Jack calls, making John snort as he steps up to his treadmill.

"Sure!" comes Benton's call from the back, over the clinking metal of weights.

-

After about two weeks, he grows used to the sudden influx of chattering, giggling women who invade his workout place every other day. Some of the women have joined the gym and he sees them around more _(Jack has very conveniently offered to help some of them 'learn the ropes' - but he has been a perfect gentleman)_. John doesn't need a woman in his life, doesn't want one, doesn't deserve one and other than the occasional glance at some well-displayed, ah, assets _(he's not __**dead**__ after all)_ he ignores them and they ignore him and, he thinks, everyone is happier that way.

It's another normal, boring Tuesday when all of that changes.

The wave of gently-perfumed, perky humans has passed him by already (indicating that class is nearly ready to begin) and he is sitting on the bench press preparing his weights, when a blast of cool air from opening the door makes him look up. Standing silhouetted in the doorway, the last golden vestiges of the setting sun over her shoulders, is the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen. She steps in and closes the door, pulling off her coat and shaking out the snow. She's wearing those mysteriously tight trousers all the women here have been wearing, those trousers that seem to lift and firm, well, _everything_ and a vest top that is doing the same miraculous thing up top and, though he is a genius, he probably couldn't form a sentence right now if he tried. All of his common sense (and blood) seems to have flown in a direction that is decidedly not up.

What is happening to him? He sees those other women dressed like that all the time in here! What's so special about this one?

_(Besides her honey-golden hair, braided back from her face and her wide, sincere mouth and those hazel eyes that look like a cool glass of whisky on a hot night. Besides the fact that he's looking at her in a way he hasn't looked at a woman in, well, a long, long time. Besides the fact that - oh dear God- she's coming this way)_

"Um, hi," she says, walking over to him, looking a bit nervous, folding her coat over her arm and oh, he hopes he hasn't been gaping at her this whole time. "I'm new, ah, looking for the yoga class? A friend of mine told me about it and I got a bit lost on my way here. I'm completely rubbish with directions. M'probably a bit late."

He wordlessly points in the general direction of the other room, not trusting his voice Her smile brightens as she looks over his shoulder, at least he presumes it does, because he's a bit distracted _(Her breasts are right at his eye level, it seems. How did he not notice that moment ago? Ah, probably because he should be looking at her __**face**__, right)_. His eyes dart back up to hers, hoping she didn't notice his little detour there. "Thanks!" she exclaims, bouncing _(yes, bouncing, that's a good word)_ away from him. "I'm Rose," she adds over her shoulder as an afterthought when he turns to watch her go _(he can't help it, he really can't. It's an involuntary reaction to the bouncing, he'd claim)_.

"Nice to meet you, Rose," he mumbles before turning back to stare at his hands, the tips of his ears flushed in a way they haven't been for _years_.

Well all right then, what the devil just happened?

-

That night, he walks back to the flat above his shop, drops his bag by the door and continues on into the shower. As he shucks his clothes, his thoughts drift back to the mysterious Rose and the way she smiled at him like he was someone special. And her especially magnificent arse. And...her well, fantastic everything else.

Those thoughts start him down a surprising path that brings him to a frantic, fist clenching, chest heaving, shuddering release, the walls of his shower echoing her name back to him.

He should probably be very embarrassed by what just happened, but it's been a long time since he's fantasized about a woman like that and all he can think about is seeing her again. Maybe she'll be back on Thursday. Maybe he'll get up the nerve to talk to her.

Maybe not.

In the meantime, he'll just have to keep thinking about her.

_Rose_.

Huh.

He doesn't even know her last name.


	2. Chapter 2

It's Tyler.

In the next two weeks, John sees her four more times (not that he's been counting). She comes back on Thursday for yoga and then again on Saturday. Then on Tuesday and Thursday again. And then it's FRIDAY and she's here _(isn't that a pleasant surprise!)_ talking to Benton to sign up for a year-long membership so she can come more often! Year long!

He would never admit it but as the weeks pass by he looks forward to the evenings at Benton's more than anything else _(and isn't it strange to have something to look forward to again?)_. On yoga days _(Rose Days, he calls them in his head, because he KNOWS she'll be there and also because he seems to be a daft, sentimental fool of late)_ he may arrive with a bit more spring in his step and he might, just maybe, make sure he shaves. She's come almost every day for two months now and it's a bit of an adventure each night, walking in and hoping she'll already be there or, if she's not, waiting with baited breath every time the door opens.

In that short amount of time, he's found out a lot about Rose Tyler. She's twenty-four _(twelve years between them..not a huge age gap but not exactly in his favour - not that it matters, since he's barely even spoken to her. It's been quite a long time, but he's fairly certain speaking to the other person is a key part of actually being in a relationship)_, she works at a travel agency over on Totters Lane, her mum drives her spare most of the time, she's just moved out on her own and, in a few months, she's running the London Marathon.

Of course, very little of that information has been acquired by him directly. Rose has easily made friends with almost everyone in the gym and so he's overheard most of those details, _(his satellite ears have to be good for something and he can't seem to get the nerve up to do any more than grunt at her occasionally)_. She still smiles at him a lot, sometimes even gracing him with this wonderful little tongue-touched thing that makes his heart skip and his brain file away for later in the shower.

Today, he is doing bicep curls while pretending not to check out Rose as she runs on the treadmill when Jack saunters by.

"So, are you ever going to ask her out?" he asks, picking up a dumbbell near John and joining him.

"Who?" John asks, feigning innocence.

It doesn't work, judging by Jack's eyeroll.

"Oh, gee, I don't know. Maybe that girl you've been staring at for six weeks now?" Jack replies, sarcastically. "Seriously, if you go any slower, you're going to be moving backwards."

"Don't know what you're talking about," he grunts, turning away and moving to one of the machines.

"You do too," Jack laughs. "Your eyes were locked on her arse. Which, I'll admit, is quite lovely. Were you fantasizing about her just now?"

"Shut up," John snaps, the red tinge to his ears all the answer Jack needs.

"C'mon, just ask her out for a drink. A bunch of us are going out later. You won't even have to be alone with her. Unless 'alone' is what you want," he continues, waggling his eyebrows.

"I don't do that," he says flatly.

Jack's eyes narrow slightly and he makes a gesture toward the other side of the gym where that prat Adam is eyeing Rose while pretending to look busy. "You better start," Jack cautions.

John lets go of the bar on his machine and looks up at Jack. "But how can I…" he begins and then trails off, casting another look over at Rose's bouncing form and back at Jack plaintively, forgetting that he doesn't do things like that. He doesn't go out for drinks at pubs with friends. And he certainly doesn't invite women to go out for drinks at pubs with friends. Especially not beautiful, friendly, wonderful women who make him feel like he's worth something again.

"You're acting like you've never asked a woman out before!" Jack laughs and then stands up, clasping the other man on the shoulder. "Just go over, say hello and ask her. We're meeting at Chesterton's a few blocks over at eight."

Over Jack's shoulder, Rose is stepping from the treadmill and toweling off, getting ready to head into the locker room. Following John's enamoured gaze, Jack turns slightly to watch Rose with him, grinning once more. "Now or never, buddy," he says, moving to push John lightly toward Rose's retreating form.

Against his better judgement, John stumbles over to her just as she's bending to put her towel back in her bag, affording him a very nice view of her - _stop it, Noble, she's right there_. "Oh, hi, John!" Rose says brightly, smiling and looking a bit surprised to see him looming so close to her.

"Hey," he manages and then feels very proud of himself. So far, so good.

"I've been meaning to talk to you, actually," Rose says and his heart can't seem to decide whether it wants to stutter or soar. _She_ has been meaning to talk to_him_?

"Jack said you've run the London marathon before and I thought you might have some pointers," she continues, still smiling at him and waiting for his response. The aforementioned Jack is standing over by the mens locker room giving John first a thumbs up and then a wildly obscene hand gesture he doesn't feel like he should probably be interpreting right now. "It's my first big race, so I'm a bit nervous. I mean, I've done marathons before, but this one is different, you know? I mean, it's the London marathon!"

Her smile drifts into something that's a little confused and a little nervous _(nervous? why would she look nervous?)_ when he doesn't respond at all. "Are you, ah, are you running it this year?" she tries again.

He nods, dumbly.

"Oh, excellent! Maybe we could go for a run together along the path next week! That is, if you don't mind. I know you're a brilliant runner, probably much faster than me - if your treadmill workout is anything to go by, but I thought maybe you wouldn't mind. The weather's supposed to be nice and most of the snow's melted. It's been a while since I ran with anyone else, might be a little out of practice, but it's hard to find other marathon runners, isn't it?"

She's rambling a bit and seems nervous again and wait, did she just admit to watching him on the treadmill?

Oh, wait, she's waiting for a response from him.

He nods, again, this time dumbfounded. Rose Tyler seems to have just asked him on a date.

Sort of.

Wait, isn't that what he's meant to be doing?

"Well, ok, then. Sounds good. Maybe, ah, maybe we can set up a time to do that then?"

He nods once more and is just working up the courage to make an actual sound come out of his mouth at her when he's interrupted by a shout.

"Rose! Move it!" comes the Scottish lilt of the redheaded woman who runs the yoga class and is, apparently, Rose's friend now. "We've got to get out of here if we're going to shower and get to Chesterton's on time!"

Rose gives him one last smile and then bounds away toward the redhead.

Well, he came over here to get her to come to the pub and she's coming. If Jack asks, he's counting that.

-

About five minutes after arriving at the pub, he begins to think it was a mistake. Chesterton's is nice, homey place, run by a pair of retired school teachers, but it is a Friday night so it's still crowded and loud and the smell of alcohol is all around him. He sidles up to the bar and orders a soda, sitting down in an empty booth away from the noise to nurse it and wait. Soon enough, Jack appears, followed by a good-looking bloke that just started coming to the gym last week and a few more people he recognizes. Somehow, the group gravitates to his booth (Jack, probably) and, strangely, he finds himself forgetting his reticence. This is a bit nice, actually. Being out and around people is rather fun, he thinks.

Then Rose and Amy arrive. Rose is wearing a pair of low-rising, dark jeans that make those trousers she wears at the gym look positively demure and a tasteful but low-cut red jumper that displays her curves and hugs her body in all the right places. Amy is wearing something nice as well, he supposes, but he can't seem to take his eyes off Rose. As the evening continues, the conversation and crowd around his table rises and falls, some people drifting in and some drifting out until, at last, it's just him and Rose. Rose has been at the table nursing the same pint since she came in and he wonders a bit at that but it doesn't seem to be a good conversation starter, so he simply stares at his hands on the table. Likewise, she doesn't comment on his choice of drink, doesn't seem to need to.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Rose asks, drawing his gaze back up to her.

He can't think of anything clever to say, so he settles on honesty. He might as well try to get an answer to the question that's been bothering him all evening. "Just wondering why a beautiful young woman like you is wasting her time sitting here with an old man when she could be out there dancing with those pretty boys." His gaze flickers over to the group Jack is currently weaving in and out of, filled with young fit men, many of whom have cast looks over at Rose throughout the evening _(not that he's noticed. Or sent back threatening scowls when Rose wasn't looking)_.

"First of all, you're not old," Rose laughs and he blinks at her in surprise. Her brow crinkles _(adorably)_ and she tilts her head to the side, considering him. "You're what, forty? Forty-five?"

"Thirty-six!" he says, indignantly. For the love of - he doesn't look like he's forty-five, does he?

"See! S'not old at all, " she crows, grinning in triumph and he realizes he's been had. She holds a finger in the air and begins ticking off the rest of her response. "Second, spending time with you isn't 'wasting it'. Third, I don't want any of those pretty boys and, fourth, thank you."

"For what?" he asks, frowning slightly in confusion.

"For saying that I'm beautiful," she smiles again and this time there's definitely a bit of a blush there, a blush he's sure he's mirroring.

"You're welcome," he replies, gruffly. They sit in silence a moment and then John speaks again, abruptly. "You should do a half-marathon."

Rose looks surprised at his non-sequiter and simply tilts her head to the side again, encouraging him to continue. Taking a deep breath, he says in a rush, "S'good to run a half-marathon about a month out from your big race. You can check your pace and it gives you a bit o' rest before the long one. There's a fantastic charity run in next week that my sister Donna organizes. I could probably still get you in." He gauges her for a reaction and then looks down at his hands. "If you want."

There. That's the most words he's ever said to her in one go.

The look on Rose's face when he's finally brave enough to look back up at her indicates that she probably realizes that as well. "I'd love to!" she exclaims, offering him a huge smile that makes his heart skip a bit. "Thanks!"

He nods and then looks back down at his hands, silence falling over them once more. "D'you, um, d'you want to dance?" Rose asks, quietly and he's so surprised by her question, he jerks his head up to look at her but it seems that it's her turn to stare at her hands. That brilliant smile is disappearing with every second he doesn't respond and almost everything in him is screaming to say no, absolutely not, he does not dance. Because he doesn't.

Except, well, maybe with Rose Tyler he might. That smile of hers is gone now and he wants it back. He coughs slightly, straightening up in his seat and feigning a confidence he doesn't feel. He can do this, for her. "I've got the moves but I wouldn't want to boast."

Rose's head snaps up and she eyes him, probably in surprise at his unusually playful response. "You've got the moves?" she says, slowly, tongue going to the corner of her mouth _(and oh, how is he supposed to even remember how to walk when she's doing that with her mouth?)_. "Show me your moves, then."

Almost in a daze, he stands up and lets her lead him to the dance floor, his mouth dry and cottony and his limbs like lead. Her arms move up around his neck and his hands automatically rest on the swell of her hips _(and this is so much like one of his fantasies, he can hardly breathe, except he's tense and nervous and, admittedly, they both have a lot more clothes on than they usually do in his imagination)_. Rose leans in a little closer and he can feel her chest brushing against his and oh, that's marvelous, it really, really is. He's so focused on all the places his body and hers are almost mingling, he doesn't realize that he has yet to do anything even remotely related to dancing until her light teasing voice ghosts across his ear, "You'll find your feet at the end of your legs. You may care to move them."

He chuckles into her hair, relaxing incrementally until he feels boneless and weightless, like he could float away with an armful of Rose Tyler and be a content man. He probably could.

Things are different after that, as if they're under some sort of spell out there on that crowded floor, having cheesy pop music blasted at them. He can't put his finger on it but it doesn't seem to matter. He murmurs quietly to her and she answers, both of them feeling a simple ease in speaking to one another like this, intimate tones shared close in ears, a delightful tingle as lips brush skin, the thrill of new attraction. They talk about running and life and favourite guilty pleasure foods _(her - chips, him - banana splits)_ and it seems like the universe stands still tonight, just for them. He tells her that he has a doctorate in physics but prefers to work with his hands and she tells him that she ran out of money before she could finish uni. Finally, there's the call for last round and, as they rather unwillingly untangle themselves from one another, they're both surprised at how much time has passed.

He holds her hand and walks her back to her flat _(only two blocks from his, to his surprise)_, but he doesn't kiss her, not just yet. He does pull her into a tight embrace on the street corner, underneath the dim light of a lamp, and tells her how glad he is to have met her. She returns the fierce hug and whispers the same, her lips ghosting his cheek as she pulls back, making him shiver and then she floats away into her building with one last smile over her shoulder at him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Donna, I've got a favour to ask you," John says the next morning over din of his garage opening, figuring it's better to just jump in with both feet with Donna. She's going to berate him about everything and nothing anyhow, so he might as well get into it right away.

"Oh, yes, 'Hello, Donna, it's your long-lost brother!'. 'Good to talk to you, Donna!'. 'I haven't spoken to you in ages, Donna, because I'm a wanker who never answers my mobile or bothers to respond to voicemails, Donna!'" the brash voice of his sister rings out through the earpiece.

"I know, Donna," he sighs. He hasn't been good at returning her calls lately, mostly because he knew that she would ask him what he's been doing lately and that she would be disappointed that it's the exact same thing he's been doing for the past several years (minus the drinking, that's a plus, he supposes).

"Anyway, if this is about buying drapes for that hole of a place you call a flat, you can just shove off. I already tried helping you with that once and besides, you're grown man. You can bloody well do you own domestic shopping for all the thanks I got the last time -"

"Pink and orange flowers, Donna. You tried to buy me curtains with little pink and orange flowers all over them," he snaps.

"They were cute!" she retorts.

"They were hideous," he answers. "But I'm not calling about curtains."

"Good," Donna snorts. "Because I wouldn't have helped you with that. What do you want, Space Man?" she asks, using her childhood nickname for him.

"I know it's late but I have a friend who wants to register for your half-marathon," John says, holding the mobile between his chin and shoulder and pulling on his mechanics coveralls. "I'll pay the fee and she can have my number, if need be. She's running in the London marathon and I told her that a half would be good practice."

"John, registration closed over a month ago! I can't just go sticking people in because you go around blabbing - hold on a mo'. Did you say _she_?" Donna's voice picks up at the end and he can practically hear the wheels turning in her mind as her sisterly instinct latches onto that little detail.

"Yes, Donna, she," he responds, shifting to hold the mobile on his other shoulder and rolling his eyes. "Her name's Rose, she works out at the gym I go to and no, I'm not sleeping with her."

Donna snorts into the receiver. "That's because you don't sleep with anyone. More closed off than a monk, you are."

He opens his mouth to protest, but Donna interrupts him again, softer this time. "This is important to you, isn't it?" she asks.

"Yeah," he admits, just as soft.

"I'll do it," she replies and, just as he is getting ready to thank her, her brash volume picks back up. "You want to sleep with her, don't you?" she teases.

"Shut up," he answers and Donna's cackle over the line as he hangs up tells him that she doesn't need to see his blush to know it's happening.

-

That evening at the gym, he can't decide whether to implode with nerves or explode with excitement. It's a yoga day, so Rose will definitely be in and he simultaneously can't wait to see her and yet feels like he should probably run the opposite direction from anywhere she might possibly be.

Is this...is this what love feels like? It's infatuation, certainly.

But this is _Rose_, after all.

Rose, whose curves and warmth felt fantastic pressed up against him for an entire evening last night. Rose, who he walked home and who gave him a long, lingering hug. Rose, who makes him smile and laugh, something he thought he'd forgotten entirely how to do. Rose, who has agreed to some (albeit vague) future solo interactions with him that could possibly, just maybe, he hopes, be considered 'dates'. Rose, whose entrance packet for the Alzheimer's Society's half-marathon next week is burning a hole in his gym bag.

Rose, who is walking in the door and giving him a brilliant smile _(really, now, how can she possibly walk in trousers that tight - much less do yoga? Or, more to the point, how can he be expected to form coherent sentences around her when she is wearing trousers so...stretchy. And clingy. He would like to explore other ways Rose might stretch. And cling. And...oh, she's given him a knowing smirk and sauntered past him into yoga)_.

Keeping an eye on the time so he knows when to stop running (which will happen to coincide with the end of yoga class, by some miracle), he lets his mind wander as he runs. He doesn't quite know what Rose sees in him, broken, old ex-soldier, ex-alcoholic that he is, but he's selfish enough not to question it too much. He's finally beginning to feel like he can live again, like there might be more to life than just dragging himself out of bed every morning and existing. He's finally beginning to see a future, a future worth living. And Rose is in it.

In fact, Rose is it.

He is sitting on a workout bench doing some very manly bicep curls _(not on purpose, wherever would a person get that idea?)_ when yoga class is over. He's concentrating very hard on forming his next few sentences _(Hello, Rose! Remember last night when we walked home and made some ambiguous plans about running together this week? Care to make those plans solid? As well as plans for then next week after that? And maybe the next? For as long as we both shall live, perhaps? Wait -what? Oh, and remember the way we held hands? I'd quite like it if we did that again. Not while we're running, of course. That would be daft. Although, it might be worth trying, actually. Running and holding hands? Then you wouldn't be able to wander off...and for the love of - he's getting rambly in his head isn't he? It's like he's turning into a different man around Rose.)_ when a female shadow falls over him and he looks up to see a nervous blonde…

Who is not Rose. Huh, that's odd.

"Hi, John," the pig-tailed woman says, giggling at him a bit.

"Er, hello, ah," he stammers. "Lynda! Hello, Lynda" _(with a 'y' something in his brain offers)_. The girl brightens immediately when he says her name and some mauve warning goes off in his mind.

"Hi, John. Oh, I just said that. I was just, I mean, I've been watching you - not like in a creepy way, just you know, watching you, because you're, um, you know, and I thought, like, maybe you might, want to um, get a coffee? Not right now, you know, late and all, unless you wanted one right now. I could get coffee, if you want to get to coffee. I could come with you. Right now. To get coffee. And then maybe um, other things. After coffee. Tonight," she finishes in a quick jabber.

He gapes at her.

"John! I was just thinking that chips are most certainly in order since - oh, hello," Rose's voice comes from somewhere behind him and the mauve light _(he'll wonder why it's mauve later)_ grows brighter.

He turns slightly to see Rose standing behind him, looking as gorgeous as ever with a slight sheen of sweat that's making her Union Jack vest top cling to her and the tendrils of hair near her neck dampen and curl. He also notices that her eyes are narrowed ever so slightly at the other woman _(the other woman who just propositioned him - what is getting into him lately? Is he exuding some sort of alien hormone?)_ and it makes him a bit proud in a way he really probably shouldn't be proud that Rose seems to be a bit jealous.

"Hello," Lynda replies, eyes darting nervously between Rose and John. No one says anything for a long tense moment as Rose stares at Lynda and John and Lynda stare at Rose. "I'll just be off then," the woman says, finally, eyes wide. "I'll, ah, talk to you later, John?" she says, her voice moving up at the end in a hopeful question.

"I don't think -" John starts but is cut off.

"We're busy," Rose replies, curtly, laying a hand on his shoulder. Lynda makes a squeaky noise and scarpers off quickly, making John turn and raise an eyebrow at the _(very hot)_ slightly possessive woman at his side.

To his surprise, Rose immediately crumples and she flushes, sitting down as far away from him on the small bench as she can. "M'sorry," she mumbles into her hands, her head down. "I shouldn't have said that. I sound like a crazy person now. I had no right to do that. I'll just go," she says, resolutely, standing up and avoiding his gaze and mumbling something about someone named 'Jimmy'.

"Rose, wait," he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her back down on the bench beside him, thigh touching thigh. "It's fine, really. I wasn't interested in her. Only been interested in one blonde for months now and that's you," he tries, going for a bit of banter to make her smile but she's still looking at her feet. "Besides," he continues, bumping her shoulder with his to make her look at him. When she finally does, he leans in close, letting his lips brush her ear _(and did he imagine her shiver there? He doesn't think so)_. "I kind of liked it," he whispers.

She gives him a small but genuine smile in return and with that, they're back to normal. "Donna was able to get you registered for the half. I've got your packet in my bag," he says, giving her a tentative smile of his own. "D'you want to get some chips and look over it?"

"I'd love to," she answers, giving him a 1000-watt Rose Tyler grin in response. "Just let me go grab my stuff." He watches as she bounces up and flounces to the locker room before transferring his gaze over to a lazily smirking Jack Harkness.

"Gotta say, Rose going all alpha she-wolf, defending her territory? That was hot," the man leers good-naturedly. "She's gotta be a real tiger in bed. Let me know, eh?"

"Too many animals in that statement," John grunts, hiding the twitch of his own lips behind his hand. Of course, Jack's right. She probably is.

"I could also make a comment about some certain horse-like qualities of other members of this gym in close proximity," Jack continues, unfazed by John's lack of response, his gaze flickering toward the other man's shorts.

"Buy me a drink first," John laughs, standing to grab his leather jacket and walk with the newly-emerged Rose to the door. He doesn't know how she can manage to look more beautiful every time he sees her, but he'd wager the tingly feeling in his heart has something to do with it.

"Is that an invitation?" Jack calls after the two of them.

"No!" they both call over their shoulders with matching smiles, linking hands and setting off into the cool night air.

They eat chips and Rose laughs when John realizes that he didn't bring his wallet with him to the gym tonight. He promises to pay the next time and they both blush and bluster through the moment, each of them happy to accept that there will certainly be a next time. They fight over the vinegar bottle and hold hands across the table, prompting an eye-roll from their so-not-amused waitress, but it doesn't matter. Nothing seems to matter in this moment because he's got Rose Tyler by his side and they're going for a run tomorrow (it's supposed to be sunny, she's got the day off and no one's scheduled to come into the garage. Perfect).

-

He's not really willing to admit it but he's a bit nervous the next morning, waiting for Rose to appear at the spot they agreed on, near the start of the London Marathon. Jogging in place to ward off the bit of a chill in the air, he thinks about last night. He'd had a brilliant time with her and was looking forward to spending more time with her, but he is a bit wary about how attached he is becoming to her. The things he cares for never last long. They break him or he breaks them, sooner or later and perhaps it would be better to let Rose go before she has a chance to hurt him. Anyway, she deserves someone better than him, someone younger and better-looking and…

"Hey, you! Whatcha thinking about? Looks like you're doing really difficult maths over there." Rose's voice comes from much nearer than he expected and he looks over to see her standing right next to him, peering up with a mixture of concern and amusement in her eyes.

She has on bright fuchsia pink workout top, her blonde hair is braided back in complex pattern and she has on those tight trousers he always admires at the gym. "You look beautiful," he breathes, accidentally out loud. Rose's smile widens and he panics. "Considering," he adds.

"Considering what?" she questions.

"That the colour of your top should be illegal," he quips, grinning at her cheekily and hoping she'll let it go.

"Ok," she laughs. "Are you ready?"

Nodding, he grabs her hand and squeezes before letting go. "Run!" he says and they begin. They're only running to the halfway mark and he's decided to keep pace with her instead of running his normal time. About two and a half hours and twenty one kilometers later, they've crossed the Tower Bridge and pulled to a stop, breathless but happy.

"So, d'you have any plans for this evening?" he asks her as they walk back to the Tube station together to go home.

"I was thinking a shower and vegging on the couch with a film. You?" she asks, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

"Don't have anything planned," he says, gesturing her through the turnstile before him and then swiping his Oyster card to follow (and determinedly _not_picturing Rose in said shower).

"You could come over and join me, if you want," she offers, not quite quick enough to grab the bar before the car jolts to a start. He catches her and helps her straighten, holding onto her waist for longer than necessary, probably _(as he thinks about joining Rose in the shower and not just for the film)_.

"No romance films," he lectures, shaking his head to clear out the fantasies and a finger at her as he lets go.

"Deal," Rose answers. "And you're bringing the take-out."

-

He's nervous again, palms slippery as they grasp the take-out bags and leather jacket feeling heavy as he walks up the stairs to her flat and stands outside. After several deep breaths, he knocks and stands off to the side, waiting.

Rose answers the door with a grin that looks nervous too and it somehow calms him that she feels the same as he does. They settle onto her leather couch (on opposite ends, of course) to eat and poke fun at the ridiculous science fiction film Rose has chosen. As the film progresses, she drifts closer to him and, by the end, his arm is around her shoulders and she is curled into his side, her hand resting over his rapidly-beating heart.

As the credit roll, Rose shifts to look up at him and then slowly leans forward to press her lips to his. John is frozen in the moment, unsure how to proceed when his body moves for him. His hand comes up to rest gently in her hair and his other arm pulls her closer to him, lips answering her unspoken question. They snog each other breathless, finally breaking for air and then grinning at each other like teenagers. Her hair is mussed, his jumper is riding up and the take-out containers have all been knocked to the floor.

"I better go," he says, reluctantly. It's not that he doesn't want to keep going, to kiss Rose Tyler into the cushions of her couch and see what her skin feels like under that soft, purple hoodie, but it's too early for that. He's not ready, not yet.

Her eyes search his a moment and then, as always it seems, she understands. She'll wait until he's ready. Rose stands and offers him a hand, pulling him up and walking him to the door. There's another not-so-quick goodbye kiss at the door and then he's off into the night, walking back to his flat with a jaunt in his step and a smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

They have a week filled with workouts and dinners, interspersed with increasingly long and glorious make-out sessions, stealing kisses wherever they can and sneaking hands up jumpers and onto bums like teenagers.

Early Saturday morning, they meet to take the Tube over to Chiswick for the run and John warns Rose about Donna.

"She can be a bit much," he says, sitting beside Rose, his thigh brushing hers. "She means well and she loves me but she might give you the third degree. She will probably say something to embarrass me. And don't make her mad."

"Take notes on embarrassing stories and don't make the sister mad. Check," Rose answers, bumping his shoulder with hers, trying to lighten the very serious mood he is in this morning.

"And don't mention anything about my mum. They don't get along," John continues, trying to think of anything else to warn Rose about. He's not sure why it's so vital to him, but he really wants Donna to like Rose. And Rose to like Donna. "Or curtains. Don't mention curtains."

"Curtains?" Rose queries, wrinkling her nose at him.

"Long story. You ready?" he asks, standing up and pulling Rose with him as their car comes to a halt.

"Ready!" she grins and they set off up the stairs together.

In retrospect, he shouldn't have even worried about the two of them getting on. All it took was one giggling crack as his expense and a kiss to his wounded cheek and Rose and Donna get on like houses.

When Rose crosses the finish line and he scoops her up into a celebratory hug, he spins her around and catches Donna's eye across the crowd. She gives him a silent thumbs up and then a stern look. He nods. Rose is a keeper. And Donna approves.

-

The next month flies past and Jack complains that if they're not going to shag then they need to stop coming to the gym because the sexual tension between them is driving him insane. Slowly, John learns what she likes and Rose learns how to turn him into a quivering pile of jelly. He tells her that it's been several years and that during his dark, alcoholic days he had several very embarrassing encounters with trouble...initiating and that he's been gun-shy ever since.

Of course, it doesn't seem to be a problem with Rose. He's almost perpetually half-hard around her, when he isn't sporting a raging erection, pressed up against her on the couch, gasping and praying he won't embarrass himself.

She tells him about the abusive boy who took her virginity and made her feel like dirt and the safe but unsatisfactory pairing that followed.

Together they're safe and yes, they're moving slow, but this relationship with Rose isn't a sprint. It's a marathon. He is in for the long haul, as long as she'll have him. And the payoff is going to be so much sweeter for the build up.

Of course, all his noble intentions fly straight out the window when, two days before the marathon (they agreed not to see each other the day before to rest up for the race), when she lowers the fly on his jeans and takes him into her mouth, her glorious, talented, wonderful mouth. After he comes to a shuddering, gasping, fucking brilliant climax he asks her what it was for and she just grins impishly, licking her lips and says 'For luck'.

-

And then he and Rose are walking to the starting line of the London Marathon hand in hand. They are running different heats and John's line-up is soon. She's wearing the bright pink top he laughed about on their first run and he's wearing the ridiculous 'Trust Me, I'm a Doctor' shirt she bought him a few days ago. Rose pins his number on for him and he returns the favour and she steals one last kiss 'for luck', Rose tells him with a wink, leaving him gaping after her, thoughts of two nights ago rioting around his poor, overwhelmed brain.

"See you at the finish line, Noble!" she says, tongue in teeth, before disappearing into the throng of runners milling about, warming up and chatting.

He finishes in 4:42:37, a new record for him _('for luck' indeed)_, and then moves to the side to stretch and wait for his pink and yellow girl to cross the line. A little less than an hour later, she comes across the line, eyes immediately darting about to look for him, which makes his heart swell. She's glorious, all sweaty and tired and beautiful and he really can't help himself. Striding over to her with purpose, he buries his hand in her damp hair and pulls her against him, kissing her fiercely, ignoring the whoops of the crowd around them.

"John!" she laughs, batting at him and gasping for air when he releases her. She pulls him to the side, out of the path of the finishing runners. "I'm sweaty and gross and -"

"I love you," he blurts out, hands on her shoulders, eyes blown wide. Because he does and he suddenly couldn't have waited one more moment to tell her.

"I - what?" Rose asks, breathless and searching.

"I love you," he repeats, one hand coming up to brush along her jaw. This is it, the moment where she can reel him in and hold him forever or crush his heart and hope.

"I love you, too," she replies with a smile brighter than Christmas.

"Fantastic," John answers, pulling her in for another soul-searing kiss. This is not the time or the place; they're surrounded by thousands of people and she needs to stretch and drink some fluids but neither of them are quite willing to let the moment go just yet. Despite the setting and the complaints of his muscles, his body is focused on the feeling of Rose's tongue against his own and is responding in a very enthusiastic manner, the adrenaline of the race transferring to the heat of friction between them.

Rose gasps in his mouth, feeling him hard and insistent against her stomach, pulling back to smirk at him. He's about to say something very clever when a brash voice overpowers all the other voices around them. "Oi! Spaceman! Nice run!" Rose laughs out loud as he spins her around presses his front against her back, shielding his predicament from the last person he'd want to see him like this.

"Hello, Donna," he mumbles over Rose's shoulder wrapping his long, lanky arms around her from behind, sure that his red ears are probably giving him away. "You remember Rose."

Rose begins to disentangle herself from him, offering a hand to Donna when he makes a noise of distress and pulls her back. She grins cheekily at him over her shoulder. "Nice to see you again, Donna," Rose says, laughing at Donna's eye-roll at her brother's antics.

"You too, Blondie," Donna answers, eyeing John closely. "Congratulations to you as well. Lee and I wanted to invite you and your octopus there to go out for a celebration dinner tonight."

Rose opens her mouth to answer, but John cuts her off, "Can't tonight, Donna. Gotta rest and recoup after the big run, you know."

Rose gives him a slightly quizzical look which he answers by pressing his hips lightly into the small of her back (which he is sure Donna catches - she's like a shark to blood in the water with his personal life). "How about Monday?" Rose asks at the same time John says, "Tuesday. Dinner on Tuesday."

Donna just laughs. "Fine. Tuesday it is. Have fun with all your 'resting'," she finishes, winking at her big brother and disappearing off into the crowd.

"C'mon you, time to stretch," John says, gruffly, finally releasing Rose and looking around for a water table.

Rose quirks an eyebrow at him and follows him to the cool-down area, accepting the paper cup he offers her and sitting down on the pavement, putting one leg out. "Tuesday?" she says with a grin as she stretches.

He fiddles with his own cup before collapsing next to her. "Ah, yeah. I thought, er, you might like a quiet night in tonight...adrenaline's going to wear off pretty soon and neither of us are going to want to move. Then tomorrow we could..."

"We could...?" Rose prompts, stretching in a way that emphasizes several of her _assets_ and she _has_ to be doing that on purpose.

"Have a quiet day in?" he answers, stretching down to his toes to avoid looking her in the eye. "I know you took the day off work and I could cancel the one appointment I have tomorrow."

"Day full of resting, eh? I think I can handle that," Rose says, with a sly smile.

They make their way through the crowds to the Tube and back to their flats, each separating for a shower and a change with the promise of meeting up at Rose's in an hour.

He brings some yogurt and bananas over with him and the two of them settle onto Rose's couch to eat and recover. He was right earlier, of course, the adrenaline wears off after a few hours and they're both feeling catatonic and pleasantly sore (though not quite in the way he hopes they will feel tomorrow evening). John is stretched out across the couch (his long legs don't quite fit, feet propped up on the armrest) with Rose draped across his torso. Tired as he may be, it's very difficult to ignore the way Rose's leg is fitted between his own, her thigh pressing against his groin and her left hand drawing distracting patterns on the soft wool over his stomach.

It's getting late but the idea of moving from the couch (as uncomfortable as it is) is becoming more and more abhorrent by the moment, especially since his body seems to have melted into Rose's. "John?" comes a sleepy mumble around his chest as he cards his fingers through wavy, air-dried blonde hair.

"Hmm?" he hums, the vibrations moving his chest and stirring Rose a bit, who presses a kiss to the exposed v of skin at his sternum, making him shiver. They've exchanged a few lingering kisses since this afternoon but most everything seems to be building to a grand crescendo tomorrow.

"D'you want to stay here tonight?" Rose asks, her voice quiet and a bit unsure. "I don't want you to leave," she admits into his chest, which swells with her admission.

He sighs, happily. "And I don't want to leave you, precious girl," he answers, tightening his arms around her.

Eventually, he does need the loo and she insists on moving them to the bedroom. Curling around Rose in her bed, wrapped in her sheets, surrounded by her smell and her warmth, he drifts off into the most restful sleep he's had in decades, feeling safe and loved.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, John is awakened by something pressing him more heavily into a soft mattress that doesn't feel like his own and then retreating completely. He opens a bleary eye, reaching a hand out for the warm figure he's been pressed against all night only to find himself alone. Ah, Rose must have climbed over him for the loo. Glancing at the clock beside her bed which reads 9:00, he stretches out some stiff muscles, moaning as the action creates some unexpected pressure on a decidedly stiff part of him that is very anxious for Rose's soft form to return.

She emerges from the loo in her dressing gown and gives him a gentle smile before disappearing out the door toward the kitchen to start clinking around and making tea, he supposes. Rising, he makes the trip to the loo, taking a moment to calm down before striding out to meet her, not bothering to put back on the jumper or jeans he took off to sleep last night. It feels very intimate, in a way even more intimate than sharing a bed, to sit together in their jimjams in the kitchen, sipping tea in quiet camaraderie.

"How're you feeling this morning?" he asks once they've finished their tea and toast, slipping both his plate and hers into the sink, desperate to impress her with his practically non-existent domestic skills.

"Good, actually," Rose answers, stretching in a way that makes arousal jolt low in his stomach. "I'm a bit sore, but it's the good kind of sore. The kind you get after a really fantastic workout," she continues, prowling a bit closer to him.

He leans forward, placing on hand on either side of her head, pressing her against the fridge. Apparently they're jumping right into this. "So, what'dyou think, Tyler? Ready for another marathon?" he growls, swallowing his nerves and focusing on the warm feeling spreading through his body, making his cock instantly respond to the dark look she's giving him.

To his surprise (and great chagrin) she _laughs_. That was not the response he had been going for.

Seeing his hurt expression as he begins to pull away, Rose's arms immediately go around his neck, pulling him back to her. "No, no! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she says, hazel eyes looking up into his honestly, thumbs stroking through the soft hair at his neck line.

"Then why did you laugh?" he ask, more vulnerable than he wishes. It has, as he told her, been a long while and his last few experiences weren't exactly stellar.

"You're a bloody romantic, s'all," Rose says, smiling at him gently. "Thinking it's going to be a marathon. We've had four months of waiting and nearly a whole month of foreplay. I'm pretty sure this first time is going to be a hard," she presses her hips forward and he gasps into her mouth. "fast," one of her legs comes up to pull him even closer, resulting in a strangled moan from one or both of them, "sprint to a really fucking great finish," she ends, nipping his collarbone.

"Rose," John groans, as her teeth scrape his skin, his hips slamming against hers, desperate for friction. He pulls her into a hot, open-mouthed, wet kiss, tongues dueling for dominance as he grinds her against the cool metal of her fridge. "Four months?" he finally manages to gasp in a break between kisses. He has to know...because four months would mean…

"Yeah, four months since I met you," Rose answers, trailing her lips from his mouth back to his ear and biting down on the lobe. "Four months since the first time I touched myself and thought you, that hot, blue-eyed stranger with the gorgeous arse from the gym."

"Fuck, Rose," he exclaims, hands moving around to help her wrap her legs around him, and oh, wow, that feels good. She's right, of course she's right, this is going to be hot and fast and hard and if she keeps saying things like that, she's going to make him come with just her words and her fucking brilliant thigh muscles.

He carries her through her flat as if she weighs nothing and she keeps whispering in his ear, low and dark. "I watched you, you know. You're so graceful when you run. Knew you'd have a good rhythm. And your hands. They're so big, John. I knew you'd be big. Wanted to feel you inside me. I've spent a lot of time at the gym ogling your trousers when I should have been working out."

He groans again as one of her hot little hands works its way between their bodies to caress him through his thin pants, nearly causing him to drop her. Where is her bloody bedroom? He was just there earlier today.

Finally he finds it and he dumps her onto the bed, tousled from his hands and watching him with huge eyes, pupils dilated. He's never seen anything so gorgeous in his life. They just stare at each other a moment, etching this into their memories. Because, yes, it's going to be fast and it's going to be hard, but it's the first time, the first time of many, they know.

Rose discards her dressing gown and drifts further up on the bed, hands toying with the waistband her of her small sleep shorts, eyes locked on him. "What about you, John? Did you think about me?" she asks and his breath hitches as her fingers drift below the elastic for a moment.

"Yes," he gasps, hands moving to peel off his undershirt. "That first night. In the shower. I came so hard I thought I'd seen stars, yelling your name." Rose closes her eyes in pleasure and he takes the moment to peel off his pants, climbing onto the bed with her. "And so many nights since then. You make me so hard, Rose."

"You're so beautiful," he says, fingers tracing up her legs to pull her shorts and knickers off.

"Considering the colour of my top should be illegal?" she teases and he smiles up at her, glad they can laugh even here.

"Absolutely," he says, leaving one hand to trace over her hip as the other moves up to her hemline. "Definitely illegal. Has to go."

She helps him pull it off and he's momentarily speechless, so overwhelmed by the sight of her naked and wanton underneath him. He's jolted out of the moment by her hand on his cock, almost surprising him to embarrassment. "Protection?" he gasps, pulling her hand away and putting his head on her shoulder to gasp for air.

"Drawer beside the bed," she answers.

He fumbles for the drawer, holding his body away from hers, however hard it is, and finds an unopened box of large condoms there. Something in him is very pleased that they are unopened, even if it takes an extra moment to rip the package open. "Bought them two days ago," she grins, cheekily. "Had to wait until I knew if my suspicions about what size to get were accurate."

"Knew you seduced me for a reason," he answers, rolling the condom on and taking a deep breath against the wave of pleasure he gets from his own hand.

"Rose, like I said before, it's been a while and -" he begins, holding himself over her and not allowing their bodies to mingle quite yet. He doesn't want to disappoint her.

Her eyes are kind and understanding as she shushes him with a hand over his mouth and one on his hip. "S'you and me," she answers. "We'll figure it out, yeah?"

"Yeah," he answers, letting his hips finally drop against hers and pulling her in for another kiss that quickly turns from sweet to gasping, her slick heat coating him as he ruts against her.

"Now," she pleads and he obliges, reaching down to guide himself into her searing heat. "Please now."

"Oh, fuck, fuck, Rose, fuck," he moans, trying not to slam into her. She is so tight around him, he doesn't want to hurt her but she feels glorious. She's repeating a string of filth back at him and soon, but not soon enough, fuck that felt like a long wait, her hips are moving up against his, a silent plea for more.

They are all slick skin and murmered oaths, exchanging thrusts and kisses and bites as they fight for completion. His hand moves to the headboard behind her for more leverage and he feels hers move to where they are joined, groaning at the feel of her fingers against him. "C'mon, Rose, c'mon, soon, please, soon," he begs. "I'm close, so close. Come, love, come!"

She explodes underneath him with a scream and he immediately follows, hilting into her as hard as he can and feeling every muscle in his body tense and then collapse into bliss. After a moment, he shifts off of her, conscious of his weight and of the condom on his softening arousal. He wonders if it was him calling her his love that sent her over the edge. He wouldn't mind at all if it was.

"Told you," Rose mumbles beside him, her face hidden momentarily under her arm. He lifts her arm and presses a kiss to her wrist, exchanging a dopey smile with her.

"So you did," he laughs, leaning down to kiss her before rolling out of bed to pad to the loo for a moment. When he walks back in, Rose is sitting up in bed, the sheet over her lower half, watching his lithe, naked figure prowl back to her with appreciation.

"Dr. Noble," Rose says, leaning over him as he lays back down beside her, tracing circular patterns over his naked chest.

"Hmm?" he answers, lazily, feeling sleepy and more than a little sore now.

"I believe someone promised me a marathon," she says, slyly, tongue in her teeth, shifting until she is straddling his hip, her blonde hair falling in a curtain down around his face, her fingers finding his own above the sheets. He surprises her by flipping her over onto her back and kissing his way down her body, pausing above her hip.

"For luck," he says with a wide grin.

Sod sleeping. He's got a new race to run, hand in hand with Rose Tyler.


End file.
